LITMIR.BIZ

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by her composure. How could she sit there so calmly, as if the entire world hadn’t tilted on its axis?

      One of the strangest aspects of losing Paige was having to exist in a world that, for the most part, didn’t recognize its loss.

      The door opened and the receptionist walked in, carrying a pitcher and glass. She set them near Abby and left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

      Ms. Jeffries waited until Abby had poured a glass of water and taken a drink before saying, “You have a document you wanted me to see?”

      Abby released the clips of her briefcase, searching inside for the note. “Yes, I do,” she answered. “When Paige was pregnant, she asked me to raise her children if she and Brian ever died. No one ever thinks that’ll happen, but…”

      Breaking off when the lump in her throat got too big to talk around, she shrugged, finally locating the note and shoving it across the table. The smell of roses reached her nostrils, and she willed back the threat of tears that came all too often now.

      Her sister had always written to her on rose-scented stationery, as a sort of gentle ribbing about Abby’s middle name. A sisterly prank that had begun when they were kids had developed into a loving habit that seemed poignant now. Who would have thought that Paige could die so young?

      Ms. Jeffries studied the note. She read the first side slowly, then turned it over to skim the rest before tossing it back down in front of Abby. “This is not legally binding,” she stated bluntly. Almost cruelly.

      “It’s all I have in writing, but I’ve been taking care of the babies since the night of the accident and…well, actually, I watched them quite often before.”

      “If you can prove that, it might help,” the attorney said. “But a handwritten and unwitnessed letter won’t hold up in court.”

      “And I could lose the twins?”

      In the middle of sipping her coffee, Ms. Jeffries answered with a one-shouldered shrug.

      “What can I do to change that?” Abby asked, reaching over to touch the attorney’s crisp red sleeve.

      She frowned. “You’re lucky. A few months ago your sister and her husband drew up a will specifically stating what should happen to their children and their property if they died. Paige didn’t tell you?”

      “No, she didn’t. A legal will?”

      “I have a copy here. All you have to do is sign a statement petitioning the court for guardianship rights. If the judge agrees, you’ll have every right to make decisions on your ward’s behalf.”

      Huffing out a bellyful of air, Abby wondered why Ms. Jeffries couldn’t have shared that information as soon as they stepped into the conference room. She could have been halfway home by now. “And I’ll get to raise the twins?”

      “Not both of them.”

      A wave of dizziness swept through Abby’s head. “What do you mean, not both? Paige wouldn’t have separated them.”

      “It appears that, in a way, she has.”

      “Who gets the other twin?”

      “I’m not at liberty to say until the hearing tomorrow morning at nine o’clock,” said Ms. Jeffries. “Either you or the other party has the right to surrender guardianship at that time. If you both agree to uphold the intentions of the will, the judge will likely do the same. If you don’t, we’ll have to fight it out in court.”

      Abby frowned down at the note her sister had written nearly a year ago. Ignoring its scent now, she studied the curlicue letters of her sister’s handwriting, scrawled across pink paper. Paige had been young and suggestible. Brian must have convinced her to change her mind. She shouldn’t even have been allowed to sign that will.

      Abby drew a ragged breath and pressed a thumb and index finger against her eyelids. “Is there anything else?”

      “There is. Do you prefer legalese or plain English?”

      “Plain English would be fine.”

      “You’ve been named as the desired guardian for the baby girl, Rose Allison Kimball. You’ve also been left the house, its contents and the land and structures within the confines of the fenced yard.”

      “The farmhouse?” Abby asked, looking up.

      “Um-hmm.”

      Abby clenched her eyes shut, once again feeling faint. Her usually capable demeanor had been hammered with one too many traumas lately. But at least this surprise had been welcome news—she could continue developing the farm into the profitable enterprise she and her sister had envisioned.

      “Are you all right, Miss Briggs?”

      “Fine,” she said, opening her eyes. “Is that it, then?”

      “Look over this document.” The attorney slid a paper in front of Abby. “If you agree, show up in court tomorrow prepared to sign it. If you don’t, call me tonight.”

      “Okay.”

      “The twins are with a sitter now?”

      “Yes—with my mother.”

      “Bring them tomorrow. All family members have been told about the hearing, and some of them may be at court. If all goes as planned, you can take little Rose back home with you in time for lunch tomorrow.”

      Abby slid the document into her briefcase alongside her sister’s note, and left the building without uttering another word.

      At this moment, she didn’t know which news had been harder to take—the sheriff’s department phone call informing her of the car wreck, or this idiotic notion that she might not get to keep both twins.

      She loved those babies. She’d been a doting aunt since their birth. She should be the one to raise them.

      She climbed into her truck, stashed the briefcase on the passenger seat and stared out at the office building in front of her.

      The adrenaline that had been coursing through her veins in anticipation of this morning’s meeting was dwindling, and in its place was sheer exhaustion.

      Last night the babies had each awoken twice, at different times. Abby had sat alone in her dark living room, tending to their needs. Worrying about their future. Ignoring her own pain so she wouldn’t upset them more.

      The fitful night had made her understand the burdens of single parenthood better than she ever would have imagined. Her short period of full-time caregiving had been an intense and powerful lesson.

      She rubbed her temple, trying to remember where she’d put her grocery list. Wasn’t it on the seat beside her? She lifted the briefcase, searching, and peered over the edge to the floorboard. The sheet was sticking out from under the seat; it must have fallen when she’d gotten out. After snatching it up, she started her truck. She’d have to buy groceries on the way home.

      Forty-five minutes later, she walked through the door of her apartment carrying two bags full of baby supplies. She’d bought one single item for herself—a frozen chicken entrée that she could heat later, after the babies had gone to sleep for the night. “Mom, I’m back!” she called out.

      Faye Briggs stepped through the kitchen doorway, wiping her hands on a tea towel. “Hello, dear. How did it go?” she asked, taking a bag and carrying it to the table.

      Abby followed her, putting the other bag down before giving her mother a hug and a peck on the cheek. “I’ll tell you in a minute. Where are they?”

      “On your bedroom floor, asleep.”

      Abby scurried through the apartment, then slowed to peer quietly around the door to her bedroom. Her queen-size mattress covered most of the floor space. Pillows and blankets were stacked alongside every edge, creating a giant, makeshift crib in the middle of the room.

      Drawn

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